


To the master bedroom where the vampires feast

by sadieb798



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alcohol, Bob Ross Devin Shore, Chippendale Stripper Brett Ritchie, Closets, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Humor, Halloween, Halloween Costumes, Humor, Love Confessions, Luigi Jamie Benn, M/M, Making Out, Mario Tyler Seguin, Multi, Mutual Pining, Pining, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Tyler Seguin's Halloween Party, well-thought out plans go horribly wrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-03
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2019-08-17 04:42:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16509581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadieb798/pseuds/sadieb798
Summary: Unlike his pining mess of a captain and his A, Brett actually has a plan to get together with Shoresy.He saw the costume on Amazon and knew he had to buy it. Sure, he may get chirped about it for the next foreseeable future by his teammates - but if going by the absolutely thirsty looks Shoresy’s been shooting him all night, the decision has more been than worth it.Maybe one more sip for courage,Brett reasons, turning back to his drink and draining the entire cup.





	To the master bedroom where the vampires feast

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Stromesquad](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stromesquad/gifts).



> Happy (late) Halloween! I am so so sorry this is so late! October was difficult for me and my fam, but I'm glad I was able to get this into some semblance of done and posted! All my eternal gratitude to Jill, as usual!

Seggy’s annual Halloween party is in full swing, and Brett’s let himself have maybe a little more than he usually would.

There are red cups scattered all over the place, and he’s impressed by the decorations: cobwebs are strung up obnoxiously, fake bright orange leaves have been strewn around without discrimination, and small pumpkins litter the counters of the house’s two kitchens. _Seggy probably Facetimed with Candace and Cassidy because this place looks_ too _good,_ Brett thinks with a smile, taking another sip of his beer.

 _The Monster Mash_ is blasting on the second floor of the house and Brett can’t help moving his shoulders to the rhythm as he looks at his teammates’ costumes. Rads walks past him, a Yoshi hat on his head and spotted backpack strapped to his shoulders. He’s dragging Pokémon trainers Val and Dobby behind him, and Brett almost spits out his drink.

 _Not as good as Benny and Seggy’s Luigi and Mario costumes,_ he judges. His eyes automatically seek out his captain and alternate captain who’re over by the stairs, chatting. Brett watches Jamie as he stares at Tyler like the sun shone out of his ass, and Tyler, for his part, like Jamie was the moon and stars. Brett rolls his eyes. _If only they'd get their fucking heads out of their asses already and get together. This mutual-pining shit’s been going on for five years too fucking long._

Marshall waddles past Brett’s legs dressed in his Spider-Man costume, and Brett chuckles into his beer. The brown lab looks up at him, tongue lolling out of his mouth, and his big chocolate eyes bright. Brett can’t help the smile he gives the dog, reaching a hand out to brush along the lab’s long fur. Of course it’s as he’s distracted by Tyler’s dog that he feels eyes on him.

Brett glances up, and his eyes lock on Devin’s.

Shoresy’s dressed up as Bob Ross, from the big brown afro down to the palette and paintbrushes in hand. Devin’s dark eyes are heated, tracing Brett’s skin like a caress, and Brett feels a shiver go down his spine despite the kitchen’s comfortable temperature. Then their eyes meet for what could be a second, except time feels suspended; like everything’s moving in slow motion, it’s almost still. Then Devin turns away, and the moment’s broken, the fucking fake bushy mustache practically covering his entire upper lip as he goes back to the conversation with one of the new kids. He’s gesturing with the only free hand that's holding a red cup, while the palette and paintbrushes are in the other. Brett’s heart flutters against his ribs at the scene, and despite being shirtless, he feels hot under the collar bowtie he’s wearing around his neck.

 _Nothing to see here, just my usual reaction to Devin Fucking Shore, apparently,_ he thinks, embarrassed and his good mood dimming. He takes another sip.

They’ve both been kind of dancing around this thing between them since Juniors, and if Brett were forced to give it a name, he’d loosely call it a friends-with-benefits situation, but even that feels flimsy. The truth is, Brett’s kind of been in love with Shoresy since they were both beardless and trying to make it big, and this undefined Thing that’s been hanging over their heads has been killing him slowly over the years.

 _Honestly, what I see in this dork, I have no idea,_ Brett thinks, but can’t help smiling as he watches Devin’s nose crinkle adorably at a joke the new winger dressed as Yoda tells him. _Hopefully that all changes tonight,_ he adds taking one last sip for courage before abandoning his cup and standing from the stool.

Unlike his pining mess of a captain and his A, Brett actually has a plan to get together with Shoresy. It’s why he’s currently dressed like a Chippendale’s stripper: shirtless - _thank God Dallas is hot even in mid-October, and Tyler likes to keep his place at a reasonable temperature_ \- cuffs with fake black buttons, skintight black jeans, and a collar with a big black bowtie around his neck. He’s slicked his hair back, and due to the weather he didn’t even have to spritz himself for that shimmery, sweaty look. Instead, it’s just actual sweat.

He saw the costume on Amazon and _knew_ he had to buy it. Sure, he may get chirped about it for the next foreseeable future by his teammates - but if going by the absolutely _thirsty_ looks Shoresy’s been shooting him all night, the decision has more been than worth it.

 _Maybe one more sip for courage,_ Brett reasons, turning back to his drink and draining the entire cup.

He stands up straight, wobbles a little, and brushes his fingers over his hair, making sure everything’s still in place. Brett takes a deep breath, determined to get Shoresy alone so he can tell him why they’d make a good couple. With a decisive nod, he turns back to Devin and starts making his way over to him.

But then the stupid fake mustache Devin’s so proud of starts peeling off his upper lip, and Brett sputters a laugh. Unfortunately, he hadn’t swallowed his last sip yet, so the alcohol burns up Brett’s esophagus and shoots out of his nostrils, before dribbling down his neck and onto his bare chest.

He coughs a few times, slapping his hand onto his left pec. Brett can feel his face turn red while he tries to breathe.

“Are you okay?” asks Devin, and through the tears in his eyes, Brett sees that his moment of embarrassment got the forward’s attention. Devin’s got a crinkle of worry between his eyebrows, and his dark eyes flick over Brett in concern.

 _Fuck,_ Brett panics, and it feels like frogs are hopping around in his stomach.

“Yeah,” he finally manages, but the blush refuses to fucking die.

“You sure?” Shoresy checks, putting a worried hand on Brett’s shoulder, the touch making his nervendings spark to life. _He must have left his drink behind to check on me,_ his thinks, and somehow that makes everything _worse_ . Brett is _so close_ to fainting just being in Devin’s proximity, it’s fucking _ridiculous_ how his teammate’s _touch_ is enough to make his knees wobble like he’s standing on ice for the first time, and that thought alone just makes all the words he’d prepared two hours ago dry up in his throat.

“Y-yeah,” Brett stammers, and he can feel the blush spreading down to his chest. _Smooth, Ritchie, smooth._

Shoresy’s lips turn down into a disbelieving frown, but he doesn’t say anything more about it. He slides his hand off Brett’s shoulder, the touch trailing down his skin, leaving goosebumps behind.

“So,” Shoresy finally says after a half-second of awkward silence. His eyes flick from Brett’s down to his pecs and up again, and Brett can _definitely_ feel his jeans getting tighter.

“What’s with this getup?” Devin asks, his lips turning up into a soft smile that takes Brett’s breath away. The fingers of Shoresy’s free left hand flex, like he was going to touch Brett, but decided not to at the last minute. Brett shakes off that feeling of disappointment as best he can.

Instead he gives a careless shrug, effortlessly slipping back into that confident state he was in before his drink betrayed him. “I couldn’t resist,” he admits, feeling his lips curl into a smirk.

Devin breaks out into a grin, and his eyes glint mischievously. “Well, if the hockey gig doesn’t pan out, you can always make it as a stripper,” Shoresy chirps goodnaturedly.

Brett lifts an eyebrow, his stomach doing celebratory backflips. “You think?” he asks, flexing his left pec for good measure. Devin’s eyes snap down to his chest, his mouth opening slightly in surprise, and Brett practically has to force himself not to start jumping up and down like a little kid. There’s only like a two inch height difference between them, but with Shoresy’s big brown afro, it feels like there’s more.

Devin forces his gaze back to Brett, and the heated looks he’s been giving him all night has only _intensified_ to the point that Brett feels like he’s going to be burned on the spot.

Immediately, Devin’s left hand clamps onto Brett’s arm; the touch electrifying under his skin, and grips Brett’s bicep tightly. Then Shoresy turns and forces Brett to follow him down towards the hall, away from the kitchen and the prying eyes of their teammates. Excitement courses through Brett’s bloodstream, and he lets the giddy smile take over his face.

 _Tyler can’t complain about this,_ Brett thinks hysterically, his heart beating faster against his chest. _He’d do the same to Jamie at anyone else’s house if he could. So really we’re doing him a favor._

Devin doesn’t stop until he reaches a random door. He takes his hand off Brett, but before he even has time to miss Shoresy’s touch, Devin’s got the door open and his hand latched back onto Brett’s wrist in the same second. It’s one of Seggy’s guest bedrooms, that much Brett knows as he’s yanked inside after Devin, and he expects them to stop at the bed, or at the very least for his fuckbuddy to turn on the lights, except he doesn't.

Instead, Devin walks past the bed and heads for the closet on the other side of the room, navigating it easily despite the room being dark, the only light coming in from the windows but even then it’s not enough to see by. Devin pulls the door open and shoves Brett inside before following him in.

But Brett stumbles, something tripping him up, and his breath catches in his throat as he falls. He automatically reaches out for Devin - and the forward’s soft hands shoot out to grab him back, the paintbrushes and palette landing somewhere beneath their feet. Devin’s hands land on Brett's waist, his own fingers catching on the long sleeves of Devin's blue button-down shirt as he falls back against the wall. His back hits it with a soft _thud,_ but he doesn't even feel any  pain.

They stay like that for a minute, not breathing and clutching each other, with the closet door still open even though the lights are off.

Brett forces his eyes up from his hands on Devin’s blue cuffed wrists, his eyes now adjusted to the darkness. Only to land on the askew mustache above Shoresy's upper lip.

Brett feels his lips turning into a squiggly line of a smile, and he can't help the giggle that escapes. Then the giggle multiples and then turns into laughter when Devin's eyebrows crinkle together in confusion. He’s laughing so hard, his sides start hurting.

“You’ve got a fucking caterpillar on your face!” Brett almost shrieks, the alcohol making his head feel light, in addition to the happiness bubbling up from his stomach and making his heart float inside his chest.

He giggles again at the two rosy spots that appear on Shoresy's cheeks. “What about you?” he chirps back, his eyes drifting down to Brett’s exposed chest before meeting his gaze again.

Brett feels his face heat up faster than third period at a home game. “What _about_ me?” he dares, staring into Devin's sparkling brown eyes.

“I didn’t know the entire team had tickets to the gun show,” Devin teases, running his hands up and down Brett’s sides, making him shiver.

“What, you got a problem with Eugene and Terry?” Brett teases, tensing his arms and making his pecs bounce one at a time. Devin’s eyes immediately meet Brett’s nips and Brett feels powerful, reducing chatty Devin Shore to silence. _I could get used to this,_ he thinks smugly.

Devin raises his chin and stares at Brett, the intensity absolutely hot and making Brett break out in a sweat and his insides squirm. “Not at all,” Devin tells him, his voice low and fucking full of promise.

Brett inhales sharply, his fingers twitching on Devin’s wrists. He can feel Shoresy’s fingernails languidly trail up and down his sides, making Brett tingle at the heat that shoots up his core.

Devin smirks, knowing exactly what he’s doing to Brett - _has_ known since they were both seventeen and too horny for their own good. He takes a step closer, and Brett’s breath is caught in his throat as he tracks his closet-mate’s movements. Shoresy drags his hands up from Brett’s waist, trails of heat following in their wake as he traces Brett’s abs, then his chest, then his collarbone. Devin’s left hand lands on Brett’s jaw, and he’s standing perfectly still; arrested by Devin’s heated gaze.

Shoresy’s smirk softens into a fond smile, and Brett wants to melt right there on the floor. With his left hand, Devin reaches up and finally peels the mustache off the rest of the way, saving Brett from experiencing that caterpillar up close and personal. He discards it on one of the shelves with the rest of the crap Tyler’s closets have accumulated over the years, and then his entire focus is back on Brett and he’s heady with it; the tension between them thickening. The fingers on his jaw trace the shape softly, and it almost feels like Devin’s touching Brett with the bristles of one of the paintbrushes.

 _“Let’s build a happy little cloud,”_ the old Bob Ross quote ping-pongs around in Brett’s brain. _“Let’s build some happy little trees.”_

 _Shut_ up _Bob Ross,_ he thinks, shooing the image away.

Devin’s face moves closer towards him, and Brett knows from past experiences that the forward’s standing on his tiptoes just to be able to reach him. _It’s fucking hot._

“Okay?” Shoresy asks, raising a thick black eyebrow.

“Yeah,” Brett breathes out, his lungs stopping mid-inhale.

Devin smiles, and his lips meet Brett’s in a soft kiss. It’s tender, so so tender and good that Brett’s head swims, his knees becoming jello. He sighs into the kiss as his body practically sagging against Shoresy’s. Brett lifts his hands away from Devin’s hips, and lifts them until they’re latching onto Devin’s back, gripping the shirt tightly between his fingers.

Brett pulls away for a second, gasping for air, pressing his forehead against Devin’s. The alcohol churns in his stomach, and his head feels like it’s on a carousel. The forward’s lips have moved on though: trailing down the column of Brett’s throat, pressing butterfly kisses that make Brett whine in the back of his throat. He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to concentrate - because there was a _reason_ why he wanted to get Dev alone.

“Shores, I-I,” he starts, but the rehearsed words have fled his mind, and all Brett can do is hold on to Devin.

“What do you want, baby?” Devin whispers against Brett’s throat, the endearment making Brett burst into flame.

“I - ” _You, I want you,_ his brain screams at him. But he can’t say it - it’ll _totally_ kill the mood, and this will definitely ruin their friendship, and things will get _weird_ in the locker room and Devin would ask to be traded, and -

And the bedroom door fucking opens and he hears Tyler’s voice.

“ - come on, while everyone’s already distracted,” he stage-whispers. Brett and Devin are frozen in place, their hands still all over each other, and not breathing. The closet door’s ajar, and even though it’s still completely dark, Brett can see that his A’s got another person with him.

 _Fuck poor Benny,_ he can’t help thinking, his heart sinking for his pining captain.

Except the second person shuts the door behind him and when Tyler flicks on the lights the second person turns out to be _Jamie._

Brett’s eyes widen and he can feel his jaw drop. When he looks over at Devin, his reaction is about the same: mouth in an _O,_ his eyebrows have shot up his forehead, and his eyes are big.

 _I fucking can’t believe this shit!_ Brett frowns, mad. He drops his arms, releasing Devin, and steps up to the closet door and kicks it open.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” Brett screams, startling Devin next to him. Outside the closet, Jamie and Tyler fucking jump.

“Jesus, Ritchie!” Tyler screams, his right hand over his heart. “You scared the crap out of us!”

“What’re you doing in the closet?” Jamie asks, his eyes wide.

“I was _trying_ to tell Devin that I’ve been in fucking love with him!” Brett shouts, swaying just a little bit. “But then you two fucking finally decided to get your heads out of your asses and finally admit you love each other and ruined it!”

All at once the words he just yelled catch up with him, and hit him with all the force of a train. His heart stops in his chest and alternatively his stomach drops to his feet with a _plop._ Tyler and Jamie are staring at him like he’s gone crazy: their eyes wide, but also their faces are as white as a sheet. If that’s what his Cap and his A look like, Brett doesn’t even wanna _look_ at Shoresy behind him.

“We just came to get the candy to pass out,” Jamie whispers, recovering first. Brett blinks at the bag full of mini M&Ms that he lifts up.

“Fuck,” Brett whispers, feeling all the blood rush to his face.

“You’re in love with me?” Tyler asks, and Brett might be drunk but even he can tell that Ty’s not okay: big, hopeful eyes, eyebrows raised and it doesn’t look like he’s breathing. Jamie turns his head sharply, and he’s wearing a matching expression.

“Annnd that’s our cue to leave,” Devin pipes up. Brett jumps when a pair of hands land on his shoulders, and he whirls around to see Shoresy’s face pointedly _not_ looking at him. Whatever hope he’d been feeling during the party crashes and burns in his stomach, and he wants to hide but settles for lowering his face instead.

“We’re gonna go now,” Shoresy shuffles Brett towards the bedroom door, past Tyler and Jamie who are still staring at each other and couldn’t give one flying fuck for what Brett and Dev do. “Great party, Segs. See you guys at practice.”

Once they’re out of the room, Devin shuts the door behind them and exhales loudly. Brett keeps his head down, and stares at his feet.

“I’ll just - ” he gestures away, wanting to be anywhere but by Devin. _I wish the ground would just swallow me up already - it’d be a lot less painful._

“Nope,” Devin tells him, his hand returning to Brett’s arm and holding on tight. Brett stiffens at the touch but doesn’t move away. “I’m taking you home, and then maybe when you’re sober, we’ll have a conversation about how you’re in love with me.”

Brett can feel his face fucking explode in a blush so fast, he’d be worried he was on fire if not for the fact that he thinks that would be the best thing for him right now.

“And then I’ll tell you how I’m in love with you too,” Devin says, and Brett blinks. He flicks his eyes up from the floor to Shoresy’s face, and the tentative hope he’d seen on Jamie and Tyler’s faces he sees in Shoresy’s: big eyes, eyebrows raised, and a fond smile.

Brett’s heart flutters in his chest, and he takes a sharp breath. “You’re - ” he starts but Devin interrupts him.

“But that’s a conversation for after you’re sober,” he tells him, raising an eyebrow pointedly. He slides his arm through Brett’s and starts leading him towards the stairs. Brett’s caught between shock, awe, and so deep in love he doesn’t have a choice but to follow.

“Okay,” he agrees, and Devin shoots him one of his blinding smiles that make the whole evening worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> Don't drink and make love confessions. It will all go wrong.


End file.
